


Baby You Can Drive My Car

by BlackQat



Category: Brotherhood - Jason Isaacs
Genre: Brotherhood, F/M, Jason Isaacs - Freeform, Tina Benko
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 07:06:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14207787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackQat/pseuds/BlackQat
Summary: Michael Caffee has survived a beating and a long recovery. Kath Parry has stayed by his side, caring and worrying, and getting a divorce from Eddie Parry. They have history. A morning wake-up, some lovin', some conversation, and some memories.Takes place in "Brotherhood" Season Two, around Ep 1.





	Baby You Can Drive My Car

Baby You Can Drive My Car

Kath Parry (kept the name, but not the husband) wakes up next to Michael Caffee. He’s sleeping, more relaxed than he used to be, on his back. Before the beating he mostly slept on his stomach, but maybe all the time in the hospital trained him to lie on his back. Sunlight’s streaming through the curtains and highlighting how pale Michael’s skin is, and the freckles she loves on his arms. She smoothes her blonde hair out of her eyes to get a better look at him.

He has one hand on his stomach; his other arm is by his side, the hand where the port for blood tests was stuck in the vein and taped down. She was hardly able to touch him in the hospital, early on. She settled for putting her hand on his thigh, knee, or shin; for about three weeks, he’d been intubated, hooked up to all kinds of machinery and a drip and a catheter, ugh; and Kath was so glad when he was able to breathe on his own. They put a cannula on his nose to keep his blood oxygen at the right level … and with the tube gone, Michael could speak, a little. He’d had a head bandage for weeks after the emergency and subsequent surgeries, and his beautiful black hair was just stubble for most of the time. Now it‘s grown back, no more surgeries needed, please God.

Kath scoots over to snuggle her head on his stomach and just now notices he has an erection. Ah! “Morning Wood.”

When she was a kid her mother used to listen to the Beatles all the time. Songs of Mom’s pre-teen years, the background music of Kath’s early life. She remembers when she was 16 and “lost it” to Michael, and when she got home, Mom was listening to the Beatles, “Norwegian Wood,” so inwardly snickering, she substituted:

_I once had a boy_

_Or should I say_

_He once had me_

_He showed me his room_

_Isn’t it good_

_Mike Caffee’s wood_

She almost giggles when she remembers that. Michael’s mother had been at work when he and Kath pelted up the stairs and practically ripped each other’s clothes off, kissing like crazy. Michael was slow and careful after that though, because he knew Kath was a virgin. Yes, she had “saved it” for him. And it hurt, the first time, but he was good to her. He was older than Kath and he’d “been around,” so he knew a lot about sex, enough that he could make it really nice. They rested awhile and did it again, and it was really special because it was her first non-solo orgasm. And just as she’d daydreamed it since junior high, with _Michael._

Now, she touches the back of his hand and says, “Michael, is that a present for me?”

He’s bleary when he wakes up these days, but mutters, “What … present?”

She touches him down there. “This, is this a present for me?” Her voice is sultry as only she can make it. He’s called it smoky and sexy.

His eyebrows go up as his eyes open and he gets his crooked smile. “That’s a useful present, isn’t it. Shame to let it go to waste.”

“I’ll say.” She strips off her nightie and mounts up, slowly lowering herself, and he grins, then groans with pleasure.

After some minutes, he says, “Hey, come here,” and opens his arms. She shifts position and his arms slide around her and he feels so good, so solid, so real. They’re kissing as madly as they did Kath’s first time.

She’s holding herself up a little, hands by his arms, but close enough so they can kiss each other’s mouth, and God, she’s so glad that Michael is still a good kisser and a good lover. Energetic, although he gets tired easily these days. He sleeps about two hours longer per night than he used to. The neurologist says this is normal after such a trauma. An insult to the brain, they called it. Boy, was it. Michael’s coordination had been terrible when he started physical therapy, and his speech hadn’t been much better. His spatial perception was not good, as far as fitting things together, ha-ha. Objects, not bodies.

His chin is bristly so Kath isn’t going to ask him to go down on her, but she pulls herself up and turns so she can suck him. He has her flavor on him too, a flavor he has described as delicious. She uses lips and tongue on his dick (the perfect one for her, large enough that going in and out moves her clit slightly to get her more excited); she swirls her tongue around him and sucks gently at the tip, and her hand, lightly massages his balls. He _literally_ has bigger balls than Eddie. She grins and Michael says, “Hey, come back soon before I come in your mouth.” Good idea. She’s never gotten to the point where she could stand to swallow, although Eddie used to beg her to do it. “My mouth is not a goddam sperm bank, Eddie,” she’d said once. Michael’s never asked for that. Probably because he likes to kiss while they do it, and semen definitely does not taste as nice as her “briny nectar,” as he once said with a wink. The pre-come isn’t bad at all though, it’s kind of salty.

She’s back up on him, slowly moving up and down his body and on his cock, and she’s arched up. He sits up partway so he can lick and suck her breasts. She can’t help but groan in pleasure.

When the kids came and she breast fed them, Jesus that hurt, so she was really sensitive for a while, and not in a nice way, but Eddie … _ah fuck him anyway. He can shove it somewhere else now._

“Michael you are so good, so … good to me,” she growls, and arches down to nuzzle his nipples and brush her nose in the hair around them.

He’s moving as slowly as he can, but she can feel he wants to speed up, and fulfills his wish, rising back up to ride him hard and fast as he fingers her breasts and reaches one hand down to her folds to finger her. She loves to watch his face when he comes, but right now he’s looking down between their bellies. “What are you doing?”

“I’m watching, Kath. You should watch too. Pretty neat,” he says. So she bends her head, seeing him sliding in and out of her, the gleam of her on his cock, and her dark blonde pubes meeting his black bush. She looks back up as his breath hitches, he frowns and smiles lopsidedly at the same time, and then puts his head back to sigh explosively on each outbreath. And she’s coming too, he knows just what to do for her. Their life together may not be perfect, but the sex – _wow._

She snuggles into him, her shoulder in his armpit, head on his shoulder, his arm around her, and their hands, fingers entwined, on his stomach. When he falls asleep she’s going to pet him. He sleeps hard and doesn’t notice, but she loves to smooth the hair on his chest and belly.

He’s asleep already, and she strokes the hair on his torso, and she falls asleep too.

.

She wakes to blessed quiet in the house. The sun is higher and birds are singing outside. Not many have come back north yet, but some are here. The crocuses have faded off from their early March appearance, and forsythia, paperwhites and daffodils are beginning to bud and come up.

The kids are at her mom’s. They always have a good time with Grandma, and Kath’s mom likes Eddie (she brings out his goodness), and has him over for dinner occasionally, usually when the kids are there. Kath doesn’t want the kids to be without their dad, so that’s good.

She and Michael walked to Rose’s yesterday for Sunday dinner. The usual family ordeal, Rose ignoring Kath completely, addressing any remarks to Michael, “tell _her_ to pass the potatoes,” or “she is not invited” or “she may come to…” Eileen, looking down her coked-up nose at Kath, Tommy _seeming_ warm but not really feeling warmly toward her, which is probably a skill he uses a lot in his line of work. And Mary-Kate, Michael and Tommy’s sister, her beautiful blue eyes crinkling with smiles, who, along with her dopey but friendly husband Jimmy, treats Kath with decency.

Eileen and Tommy’s girls seem okay with Kath, she’s good with kids. Noni and Lila like her, and Mary Rose likes Kath and they have fun messing around with makeup when she comes over, _sneaks_ over in the evenings, because she loves her Uncle Michael, but Tommy and Eileen do not want him around their kids.

It’s ridiculous, she’s old enough to make up her own mind about her own relatives and Michael said she was a good worker when she briefly worked the cash register at the liquor store. ( _That’s_ over.) She and Kath like to sing together too, when Michael’s out; sometimes they goof and dance around. Mary Rose can be fun or deadly serious, she’s as good a student as Tommy was, as good a student as Michael was (but hid from other kids because being smart was not for “tough guys”).

When Michael comes home they’ll eat dessert. Kath is an average cook but a really good baker. Pie, cookies, cakes, she can do it all.

One evening Mary Rose was about to sneak back home and Tom Petty’s “(You Don’t Have to Live Like a) Refugee” came on the oldies station, and they cracked up and hugged each other. The lyrics actually applied more to Kath than to Mary Rose, but the _title!_

They both hope Tommy and Eileen won’t find out about her visits. Kath doesn’t wear any perfume when Mary Rose comes over. Eileen smelled it on her once, and Mary Rose lied and said she tried it on at a girlfriend’s. Mary Rose thinks it was funny as hell, because her mother reeks of pot half the time, and her dad still doesn’t seem to notice. Kath likes a little pot herself now and then, but will never tell Mary Rose about that (and won’t discuss it with Michael either). Michael had made very clear to his niece that “Caffees don’t do drugs.”

 _No Michael, they just sell them_ , Kath thought. A little scared, and disgusted that Michael makes money doing that, but some things are better left alone.

.

Kath’s kids are at Mom’s, they spend a lot of time there these days because Michael gets terrible headaches from noise. The neurologist thinks those will go away, but the seizures are another story. Noise seems to confuse him too, and he tends to “go blank” as Kath thinks of it, he gets still as a statue and sometimes his eyes roll up in a creepy way. That scares the fuck out of the kids. It scared Kath too, the first time she saw it, but at least she knew why it was happening. The kids … different story, even though Kath tried to explain to them before Michael came home from the hospital. They’re really young to understand illness. They’re slowly getting used to the “new Michael.” He does his “statue imitation” at other times too, sometimes with repetitive motions. At least he hasn’t done it in bed.

As she smoothes Michael’s chest hair, she gets a little teary, wondering when … or if … the seizures will go away, if he’s ever going to fully recover.

.

He wakes up slowly and smiles at her in his sexy way. “Wanna go again?”

 _I would love to, but don’t want to tire you out_ , she wants to say, but only kisses him and says, “It was so nice. Let’s wait till later, okay?”

“What were you thinking about? Feels like you were crying.” He touches his chest where some tears overflowed when she was lying with her head there.

“Ah, the first time we did it, remember?” She’d like to say _made love_ , but Michael doesn’t often think like that. He’s more like, bring flowers, write a card, never say “I love you,” just demonstrate it.

“Yeah … it was okay, wasn’t it?” He looks concerned.

“Of course it was! I just think back, sometimes. It seems like a long time ago.”

“It was. Twenty years.” Michael draws her in closer. “I remember.”

“You’d just had a fight with your dad. I remember the bruises on your knuckles.”

“He’s not my dad, that motherfucker.” Kath hides her smile at Michael’s inadvertent humor. “He’s a no-good bastard, and good riddance. He better not ever show his face around Providence again. I didn’t have to beat him up last time I saw him, at least.”

“You’re a lot bigger now.”

“When I was 16, _that_ was when I kicked his ass … I beat him to shit because of what he did to Ma. I hated his guts. I was a skinny mean fucker.”

“You were the cutest boy in school,” Kath coos in the same tone they used to use at recess. “Ooh Michael you were so-o-o cute.”

“I still am, aren’t I? You’re still beautiful as you were then.”

“Your dad thought so.” It just slips out.

“What?”

_I never told you this. Oh, fuck._

“I was waiting for you to get home one time, outside in the cold, before we went out for supper. Your mom was at work – not that she would’ve let me in anyway – and you were running late from work.

“So he rolled up in his car and said, ‘Get in,’ and we had this horrible, uncomfortable conversation.”

_._

_“Hey, beautiful. You waitin’ for my son?”_

_Kath tries to ignore him. Michael hates his father, and Kath doesn’t like the insinuating tone of voice. “Yeah, I’m waiting for him.” A subtle emphasis on ‘him.’ “Didn’t he kick you out of the house a few years ago?”_

_“Ha. He can’t kick out his old man. I should kick him out. Little fucker came after me with a broken bottle.”_

_Obviously whatever Michael did had worked. At least, till now. This is probably the first time the old man has stopped by the Hill in years._

_“Weren’t you beating up his mother?”_

_“She was mouthy. You seem like you could get pretty mouthy too.”_

_Kath can’t help it, she’s cold and she shivers. She’s worn Michael’s Irish Aran sweater, with the sleeves rolled up below her elbows and a belt, over a dark blue turtleneck (on her small frame Michael’s sweater reaches to the tops of her thighs), a cute wool hat, gloves and dark blue leggings with high-heeled boots, but neither the “pleather” boots nor the leggings are warm enough to counter the chill._

_The door of the car opens. Neil Caffee is short, so he’s reaching really far to shove the door wide. “Come on, doll, no need for you to freeze.”_

_She hesitates. Michael has told her his old man’s a dirty dog. Inside her purse, with her right hand, she grabs the key ring with her house, locker, bike keys, and the key to the clothing store where she works part time. Manipulates them so they’re sticking out between her fingers like her knuckles have claws. Gripping them, inside her purse, she gets in, staying to the far right of the seat._

_“Pretty cold out, huh. Be nice to have a little nip … aha, look here!” The old man pulls out a flask from his coat, and extends the bottle to her._

_Kath shakes her head. “No thanks.”_

_“You look all grown up to me, you can’t have a sip?”_

_In fact Michael would be furious if she did, especially from his father, much as she would like the warmth in her tummy right now. “No. I can’t. Really, no.” Kath looks straight ahead through the windshield and has glanced at … Neil Caffee … exactly once so far._

_“So, you and Michael doin’ it yet? I don’t know how he could resist a fine piece of pie like you.”_

_She shoots him a venomous look. “Michael said you’d be like this.”_

_Looking petulant, he holds her gaze, so she misses the hand that snakes out for her crotch, just under the sweater._

_She smacks his hand (with its invasive fingers) as hard as she can, and lunges with her right hand aimed at his face, scratches him with the keys, and, shaking, exits the car, slamming the door, but the window rolls down._

_“You little whore, you want it, you know you do!” His eyebrow and cheek are bleeding. Good._

_“Get away from me you dirty old man!” she screams, wishing Michael were near, and glad he isn’t at the same time, because he’d probably kill him._

_“Tramp! You’re nothin’ but a cheap piece of tail,” he shouts, and squeals the tires racing his car away._

_Ten minutes later, Michael finally gets there, and she holds onto him and cries. She makes up a story to put him off from going to hurt somebody, and he seems to know it must be something other than what she’s telling him, but he can’t get it out of her._

_._

“He was disgusting. He tried to cop a feel of me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Was it that time I was late and you were so upset? Fuck! He tried to cop a feel, where?”

“In his car.”

Michael’s frowning. “Ha, ha. _Where_.”

“Up my leg. It’s not important now.”

“Still. I wish you’d told me. I woulda had more reason to kill him.”

“And that’s why I didn’t tell you. I knew you’d fight with him, Michael. You always defended me.” _Except to your mother._ “Anyway, he never bothered me again.”

“Must have been the same night – I remember you and I were out to dinner, you were wearing my sweater, right? – I got home and he was there. I punched his fuckin’ lights out and dragged him to the gutter where he belonged. At least Ma was gone so she didn’t hear him howling like a banshee, cryin’ and making a fool of himself in the street.”

“When was the bottle thing, again?”

“That was a few years earlier. I’d just turned 13, and he was swinging at Ma. I broke his whisky bottle and held the neck in my hand. Good weapon. He took off after I cut his stupid face with it.” Michael sighs. “And we wanna talk about this shit, why?”

 _Because I’m checking your long-term memory._ “Just … Michael Caffee’s greatest hits.”

He sits up a little bit, and Kath can’t tell if he’s angry or what. Then a slow smile forms at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, like when we went to Jersey last year and I … ran into those Russians. You came drivin’ up like Bonnie to my Clyde. Jesus … that was kind of fun.”

 _Never mind that my heart was in my throat._ “It kinda was,” she says.

He pushes down the bedclothes and pats his hip. “Come on, Bonnie.” he says, his eyes twinkling. “Drive my car.”

.

<3 <3

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
